Welcome
by ThisVioletofMine
Summary: Erm... what exactly are you supposed to say to your brand new baby brother again? 'Welcome, Sherlock? Psht, yeah right.


**I am not British; please do not blame me for any incorrect terminology. Thanks!  
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**Welcome**

When little Sherlock first entered the world, barely anyone was there to meet him. The Holmes family wasn't known for their popularity, or their overall friendliness. From any onlooker's point of view, Elaine and Jonathan Holmes had personalities to match those of the stone angels in the garden; cold and calculating, with no outward expression of heavy emotion, and their first son the product of such upraising.

But from young Mycroft's point of view, life was completely ordinary, emotions not needing to be expressed as openly for their family to communicate. They all knew each other perfectly well; every person could read the other like a college algebra textbook. Child's play.

Everything had been so simple, so routine. The boy would wake up every morning with an exact plan in mind of what he would do that particular day, and his parents would do whatever they could to support him and get his needs met. Bellies were filled, bills were paid, lessons were learned, hugs were occasionally given, encouragement and praise were provided when needed.

But then Mother got pregnant again. Mycroft had no idea how to react. He certainly didn't _want _things to change. And babies most definitely meant change. While his heart trilled at the idea of someone to teach and maybe occasionally play with, his brain froze with mortification. A new baby meant less time with Mummy and Daddy, less time to sleep at night, and more responsibility that he honestly wasn't sure he was ready for.

As time went on and the little _thing _came closer to arriving, Mummy and Daddy made multiple speeches about how 'no matter what, you will never be forgotten'. For Pete's sake! He was seven years old. He didn't need so much repetition. Mycroft noticed how big Mummy's belly became, and how she seemed sore a lot. Stupid baby, hurting her!

And then the 'big day', as the adults called it, arrived. The eldest Holmes child was driven by the nanny to the big hospital, where his new sibling was waiting. The nurse in pink scrubs met them in the hallway and led them down long corridors to the room where Mother was. Mycroft vaguely deduced that the nurse was living in a dusty apartment with little sunlight, had two white cats, missed her boyfriend- who was currently visiting family in Ireland- dearly, and ate cereal for breakfast every morning.

She held open the door to room number 652 and motioned him in while Nanny waited in the hall. Mummy was wearily laying on the cot, her straight black hair falling out of its bun and plastering to her sweaty face. Her smile to her oldest child was genuine but exhausted, and she hurriedly motioned him over to her side to where Father sat, holding a white bundle to his chest with a proud beam on his face. Mycroft stalked over cautiously, doubts and worries piling up in his mind as his anger at this baby was solidified into a living, crying being. This was literally the moment of truth, and he had a negative outlook on it all.

Daddy smiled at the boy and gently lifted up the newborn to show its face to him. Oh, how red it was! And fat.

"Do you want to hold your brother, My?" Father asked. Mycroft, nervous as he was, nodded anyway, just to get this over with. He sat in the stiff chair next to his father, holding out his arms expectantly.

The older man chuckled and carefully passed the infant to his brother, who awkwardly held him to himself, rocking the baby slightly to ease his fidgets.

At first, all the boy felt was doubt towards the squirmy bundle in his arms. But as he gazed into the pink, round face, he felt his resolve melting away like cotton candy on your tongue.

He began to hungrily take in everything about his little brother, from his heart-shaped nostrils to his dark eyelashes, from his cupid's-bow lips to his small chin. Removing the blue cap on the newborn's head, he widened his eyes at the thick, curly, ink black hair covering the little boy's head. And oh, he was oh-so tiny. Five pounds, at the most.

And the deal breaker was when the little infant opened his eyes for the very first time.

Giant, pale green-grey eyes stared right back up at him, much too pale to be a newborn's and way to intelligent to be so young. Mycroft was truly touched by the level of intelligence behind those beautiful eyes, so much mirroring his own.

"My, welcome your new baby brother, Sherlock William Holmes, to the world!" His mother said with a huge smile.

But he couldn't.

How could he welcome this innocent little creature to such a horrible, cruel world? How could he let this child go out into a place filled with murder, theft, betrayal, heartbreak, and sadness? He just couldn't. Sure, he'd have to enter it anyway, but Mycroft wasn't going to welcome him into it. That felt like the utmost betrayal. What could he say?

You are now in a strange, cold place filled with lies and hatred. A place where you'll work all your life with no credit, a place where you'll be ostracized from any and all societies just because of your superior intellect, a place where you will feel unwanted except for when you're with people you'll only be with for eighteen years. Yes, welcome to the world, Sherlock Holmes.

He couldn't rip away his brother's hope.

"I... I can't, Mummy." He said, tears threatening to spill. But, like the big, strong boy he told his parents he was, he held them back. Mummy and Daddy shared a confused look, both turning back to him. He clutched little Sherlock ever closer.

"Why ever not, Darling?" Mummy asked, concerned.

"Because... I don't want to betray him by welcoming him when the world is really a horrible place!" Mummy's gaze softened, and Daddy placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Mycroft, honey, listen to me." His mother said. "You don't welcome someone to condemn them! You welcome them to, to make them feel wanted. Do you want your brother?" Mycroft nodded eagerly. "Yes, the world is a scary place, you're right. But _your _world is what counts. _Your _world is a happy place."

The young boy looked up to meet her grey eyes. "I-it is?"

She smiled; he had always loved her beautiful smile that always brought him comfort. "If you tell him it is, then it will be. You see, son, welcoming someone to _your _world is a way to say that you want them in your life; that you care about them and want them near. I know you love your brother very much, and welcoming him is a good thing."

Mycroft pondered this for a few moments before flashing a rare smile. Looking down, he met those silver-blue-green eyes with his own brown ones, and ran a caressing finger down the soft cheek. Sherlock seemed to observe everything, just like his brother. He felt a swell of emotion run through him at a million miles per second. He made up his mind then and there to protect this little child from harm, to keep his radiant innocence from being tainted by the cruelty of the outside world.

"Welcome to m_y __w_orld, little brother." He said, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Sherlock pulled a bony arm from his swaddle and reached out an uncoordinated hand, catching Mycroft's finger in his chubby, tiny ones.

They stayed like this until the youngest Holmes fell asleep, the second youngest soon to follow.

_Thirty-something years later_*_..._

"Sherlock, you've just escaped near death- again! You cannot just go running about London in an effort to update your mind palace!" Mycroft cried, practically jogging to keep up with his younger brother's impressive gait. The raven-haired man didn't stop his stride.

"Brother Dear, I must get to know London again. So much has changed since I left!" He threw over his shoulder. At this, the eldest Holmes stopped abruptly, knowing this was a lost cause. He watched forlornly as the boy he had practically raised shoved his way through the large glass double doors, coat tails swishing, not once looking back.

Mycroft sighed, his shoulders drooping ever so slightly in a rare display of emotion.

"Welcome to _my_ world, little brother."

***There is no definite age on BBC's Sherlock, although many estimate that he is around his late twenties- early thirties.**

**Thank you all for reading!**


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